Sianim 02 - Wolfsbane

than room and board, or else he’s getting rooked. Falhart, are you through wasting your strength yet?”
    He looked at Correy, who nodded.
    Which was odd—unless she tied it in with Falhart’s bare chest and the active betting. “It’s not kind to sucker people who can’t afford it, Correy,” she said softly.
    “I’m not taking more than they can afford—Father pays his men well.” He turned his back to the crowd so he wouldn’t be overheard. “Besides, Hart’s not throwing the fight. He just told me that he’d be surprised if you let him win twice in a row.”
    “He owes me a gold for fighting without my shirt,” murmured Hart. “I get that win or lose.”
    Aralorn grinned at him, “Does your wife know you take your shirt off for money?”
    “Just don’t tell Irrenna,” he pleaded—only half joking.
    “Oh-ho,” she crowed. “This sounds like blackmail material.”
    Hart rolled his eyes, “Can we get on with this? It’s blasted cold out here.”
    Aralorn straightened and shook her shoulders out. “Fine. I’ll add a little black to your blue skin.”
    Correy stepped out of the ring, leaving it to the combatants.
    The secret of fighting against a man using a tree was never to be where he thought you were going to be. Her staff could turn his, but if she was stupid enough to try to block his directly, it would snap.
    For the first few minutes, they fought silently, trying to take each other by surprise before it turned into an endurance contest. Falhart had to move more bulk around than Aralorn, but she had to move hers faster because of the length of his reach, so they were both breathing heavily when they backed off.
    “There’s a story I once heard,” she said, pacing around the ring without taking her eye off him, “about a thief-taker who worked for the king of Southwood several generations back. His name was Anslow.”
    “Never heard of him,” grunted Falhart, moving at her in a rush. She dove under his blow, tucked her stick neatly between his knees, and twisted. He fell to the ground, rolling, and she jumped lightly back out of his reach. “Don’t try that move on me again,” he warned. “Twice is pushing it.”
    She shrugged, grinning. “Some moves bear repeating, if only for entertainment value. That’s the trouble with your being so large—it’s too much fun to watch you fall.”
    They circled warily for a moment. Without the protection of a shirt, Falhart was more cautious than he’d been the day before. “Why don’t you continue with your story?”
    Aralorn nodded, walking backward as he stalked her. “Anslow solved crimes that had stumped many before him, winning a reputation as the best of his kind. There are stories of cases he solved with nothing but a bit of thread or a single footprint.”
    Falhart closed, taking a swing at her middle. Aralorn didn’t even pause in her story as she avoided the blow. “He was a legend in his own time, and lawbreakers walked in fear of his shadow. But there was one criminal who did not fear him.”
    “Stay put, you runt,” he snapped, as she dodged past him, catching him a glancing hit on his ribs.
    “Point,” she crowed. “This criminal was a killer who chose women for victims.”
    “I can see his— point ,” muttered Falhart as he caught her squarely in the back, knocking the breath out of her.
    Chivalrously, he stepped back and waited for her to breathe again. It took her a moment before she came to her feet.
    “Allyn’s toadflax, Hart, that’s going to hurt tomorrow.”
    He grinned, showing not the least hint of remorse. “That’s the point of the whole thing.”
    “Right,” she said dryly, though she couldn’t help smiling.
    This was fun . She hadn’t been able to really cut loose since her last good sparring partner had been killed. If you didn’t trust the skills of your opponent, you couldn’t use your best moves against him unless you wanted to kill him. With a wild yell, she launched an attack designed to do nothing more than tire Falhart out.
    “You were telling me about the thief-taker,” he said, matching her blow for blow and adding a few moves of his own to show her she wasn’t in control of the fight.
    “Ah,” she said, slipping nimbly out of the path of his quarterstaff. “So I was. The killer took his prey only once a year, on the first day of spring. He laid his victims out in some public place in the dark of the night. As the years passed, the killer taunted Anslow, sending